


Emme tiedä, missä olemme. Mutta olemme kunnossa sen kanssa!

by Worffan101



Series: Four Badasses In Westeros [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aarne Juutilainen is a badass, Audie Murphy does what we've all always wanted to do, Audie Murphy is a badass, Glory to Finland!, Joffrey is a little shit, Simo Häyhä is a badass, Special thanks to CaekDaemon for being Caek. :), The Author Regrets Nothing, and gets away with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5506883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Worffan101/pseuds/Worffan101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Expansion of a one-shot originally posted on Alternate History.com.  When the three most badass soldiers ever produced by World War 2 wake up in Westeros, the only thing that really can ensue is a combination of hilarity, righteous butt-kicking, and Audie Murphy seriously underselling his sheer manliness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emme tiedä, missä olemme. Mutta olemme kunnossa sen kanssa!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaekDaemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaekDaemon/gifts).



> This was originally something that I did with my friend CaekDaemon beta'ing it on AH.com. We'd been swapping ISOT ideas, and I figured that putting two of the glorious Finnish motherland's most badass soldiers, and the greatest warrior in American history (Audie L. Murphy), into Westeros would dramatically improve the situation; at the bare minimum, the White Death would slaughter all of the shittiest people and clean things up that way, since this is literally the greatest sniper in human history being dropped off into a giant shooting gallery of awful people. Just a short little bit of fun, really. :)
> 
> A little playlist to get you, the reader, into that fine Kollaa spirit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7QQZ4vmdh_o

Audie Murphy woke up in a snowdrift.

"What the...oh, lord, that's cold!" Audie shivered as he pulled himself to his feet and brushed himself off. He was in his dress uniform, with the medals--right, he'd been at the event, for the film, and he'd fallen asleep in his chair! They'd wanted him in full dress, and Audie had been happy to comply, it was all for America after all. But he'd become mysteriously tired halfway through, and hadn't been able to keep his eyes open even in the Panzer division scene... That didn't explain why he was here now, though...or why he had a gun, a nice Springfield, old but good for hunting, and a box of cartridges.

There was a fire glimmering in a clearing a few hundred yards off. Audie Murphy, ever the pragmatic soldier, shrugged his shoulders, picked up the gun and bullets, and started walking towards it.

There were two men by the fire, one a muscular officer type and the other a scrawny man with a massive scar across most of the left side of his face, who was petting a large mass of fur with one hand while eating a piece of meat with the other. The short man looked up and spotted Audie Murphy before Audie got within a hundred yards. He pointed, and said something, and the other man turned and waved the American closer.

"Come! Sit! Have some meat!"

Audie jogged up, took a seat next to the man on a log around the fire with a smile and quick thank-you, and gladly accepted his piece of hot meat on a makeshift plate. "Thank you very much, Mister. My name's Audie, Audie Murphy."

"Aarne Juutilainen," replied the larger man, sticking out his hand for Audie to shake; Audie took it, it was a quick, firm handshake. "I am from Finland. This is Simo Häyhä, also from Finland."

"Nice to meet you," said the man with the ruined face with a lopsided smile and a thick accent. "You have any weapons?"

"Just my pocket-knife and this Springfield rifle," Audie replied after a quick check of his pockets. "It's a Swiss Army knife, it was a godsend when fighting the Krauts!"

"Oh, you served?" asked Juutilainen with mild interest. "Who for?"

"US Army, sir. Fighting the Krauts to free France and kick Hitler in the soft spot."

"Hey, good work!" chuckled Juutilainen, patting Audie on the back. "Teach that _vitun kusipää_  Hitler to underestimate real men, eh?"

"We gave as good as we got and then some," agreed Audie. "What about you?"

Juutilainen shrugged. "Not much to say. French Foreign Legion before the war, but then that rat Stalin invaded mother Finland and so I came back, signed back up with the army, and got assigned to the Kollaa frontier. Not much of a battle, really, we were only outnumbered about a hundred to one, it was a little hard to hold out until we were given orders to run, but I swore an oath to hold the Kollaa and I kept it! You'd do better looking up to Simo here, this man killed over seven hundred and fifty Reds in under a hundred days, over five hundred of them with that hunting rifle he's got, scared them so much that they called him _valkoinen kuolema_ \--means, 'white death'."

Häyhä blushed and shrugged. "It was not such a great feat, really. I did what my country needed of me, nothing more. Besides, it is the rifle that you should be thanking! Good old Pystykorva!" The White Death patted his gun, sitting next to him with a box of cartridges. "Beautiful gun, very reliable! Also, I have a Sako M2 rifle--reward, for fighting Soviet rats."

"Why the hell do you have two guns, anyway?" asked Juutilainen. Häyhä shrugged.

"Pystykorva is for hunting, Sako is for fun and as reward for serving _maamme Suomi_  well. I was cleaning them, when I felt tired for some strange reason, and I woke up here."

The mass of fur by Häyhä whimpered.  Häyhä reached over with another piece of meat; the mass raised a massive, wolf-like head, and snapped up the venison.  Häyhä chuckled.  "Good dog, there.  Good girl.  Fine pups, too."  

"That's a wolf, Simo," grunted Juutilainen around his meat.   

"Nonsense!  Wolves do not get this large!  She must be some new English dog; like a good husky, but as big as a small  _hevonen_ \--what is the word?"  

"Pony?"  suggested Juutilainen. 

"Yes, that.  Wolves do not get this large.  Besides, she is a good dog!  Very friendly, eats well.  Trained properly, the pups will be very fine hunting dogs!"  

Audie Murphy swallowed his bite of venison. "So why am I in Finland?"

Juutilainen shook his head. "This is not _Suomi_. This deer, it is like nothing found in Finland. Trees, not Finnish. We woke up in the snow, too; but you know, _Suomi on kylmä kuin paskaa_ , so we're used to the cold. We've been wondering where we are; Simo has only a hundred bullets left for each gun, and after that we're down to our knives." Juutilainen pulled out his own knife, a bit like a Bowie knife to Audie Murphy's eyes. "Good knife, but no substitute for the best sniper in Finland."

"I am not greatest sniper in Suomi!" protested the White Death. "Soviet rats were simply stupid rats! Wearing dark clothes and using scopes like amateurs, or _babies_ , in the middle of winter!" Then he held up a hand and cocked his head. "Wait. I hear something." The other men were silent for a moment. Audie Murphy sttrained but could hear nothing. The White Death cocked his head again and nodded. "Horses. Wrong sound for moose. Coming this way. We should watch, see who they are."  
***

Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell had never seen the like of these men in his life.  The taller one in the lead, wearing some kind of rich but simply-cut fur coat and a well-made but simple fur hat, strode up to Ned's horse and stuck his hand up towards the lord.  

"Aarne Juutilainen.  Honored to make your acquaintance.  I'm afraid that we don't know where we are or how we got here, but if you've got a house or someplace to stay near here, we'd be happy to pitch in our services."  

"Services?" managed Ned after a moment.  "And who is 'we'?"  

"Myself,  _valkoinen kuolema_ over there by the big wolf, and Audie Murphy here."  Audie Murphy, a slight, boyish man in a crisp sort of uniform whose chest bore dozens of irregular metal disks, snapped his right hand to his forehead, elbow sticking out sideways, held the position for a moment, and swiftly returned the hand to his side.  "We have some venison that we are cooking, if you and your men need food?  And, if you do not mind me inquiring, who are you?"  

"I am Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North under His Grace Robert Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals, Rhoynars, and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm.  I am willing to offer you shelter in Winterfell, but if I may see your camp first?  And how is it that three such strange men have made a camp in the Wolfswood?"  

Juutilainen shrugged.  "Hell if I know, sir.  We just woke up here.  Oh, and be careful with Simo's new wolf, the  _mielipouli_ thinks it's a dog, but I say it's a damn big wolf."  

The next ten minutes were very busy, but fortunately the man with the maimed face convinced the direwolf mother to let Ned's men take the pups as the wolf herself followed the three strange men and Ned's entourage back to Winterfell.  

***  
"Wow...an actual castle!" gasped Audie Murphy in awe. "I saw some ruined ones in Europe, but nothing like this!"

"Is big," agreed the White Death. "Hard to defend against artillery, but good for snipers."

"Not half bad," agreed Juutilainen as they followed Lord Eddard Stark's party toward the gates of Winterfell. "If we'd had this at the Kollaa..." He trailed off into his musings.

They entered the castle, Simo Häyhä ooh-ing and aah-ing at the size of it all. The knight who'd been assigned to place them in the castle guard rode up. "Alright, you lot, this way! I'll show you your bunks and then we'll see if you're as good as you say!"

Aarne Juutilainen cracked a smile. "Oh, trust me, Sir Cassel...we are."  
***  
The little man sighted at the man standing a half-mile away, waited for the first plate to fly into the air, and fired. He levered his gun's bolt action, reloaded, and fired again. And again.

It was over in seconds. A good archer could match that pace, maybe, but definitely not lying down like that, and a crossbowman? Not a chance.

Harwin, who'd been throwing the wooden plates, jogged up to show Ser Rodrick. "Ser...the holes...they're..."

Ser Rodrick Cassel looked at the plates. Each one had a neat, circular hole right through the center.

"Drat," complained the little man. "I missed the third."

"What are you talking about?" asked the knight in confusion. "No archer I know of could make those shots!"

The little man reached up and tapped one of the holes. "Half an inch off. I am getting out of practice!" Juutilainen elbowed him sharply. "What?"

"Quit showing us up, you're making the rest of us look bad!" the man hissed.

"Do you need me to shoot, as well?" asked Audie Murphy. "I mean, I hunted rabbits and deer back home..."

"That's enough, you're all hired," said the knight immediately. "Report to me at first light tomorrow morning, right over in the guardhouse. Pay is a golden dragon per month plus food and board. Triple that if you can teach other men how to use those."

The Terror of Morocco looked to the other men, who nodded. "Excellent. We accept. The guns are...we need the special ammunition, if you have a scientist around they should be able to make more. Until then, however, we have only a hundred or so shots."  
***

"Where did you find these men, Ned?" asked Lady Catelyn Stark, as she and her husband watched Audie Murphy wrestle with one of the guardsmen, swiftly flipping the larger man onto his back as the children watched and cheered.  

"In the Wolfswood, Cat.  They said that they had just 'woken up' there; a strange story, to tell the truth, but one no stranger than the direwolf that they had with them."  

"I still wish you hadn't brought those back, Ned.  The children love them, but they are still wild beasts..."  

"The mother seems docile enough, and if our beautiful children are any judge, then the mother's virtues must be passed on to the pups," Ned replied, pulling Catelyn close.  

"Oh?  And which virtues are we talking about here, Ned?"  

"Well, strength, and great courage, and of course great beauty..."  

"Are you talking about me or the wolf?" teased Catelyn, and she giggled as Ned sputtered and tried to explain himself.  "No need, Ned, I understand your meaning."  

They slept well that night.  Until Catelyn woke up to find a wolf the size of a pony sleeping across her and Ned's legs, its tongue rasping across her face, and her shriek of mixed terror and confusion woke half of Winterfell.  

***  
_The Ruby Ford. Several months later._

Audie Murphy blocked Arya Stark's stick with his own, intentionally slowing himself down; he still didn't have much practice with the blade, but he was still a US soldier, and his reflexes were faster than those of a medieval noble girl. "Argh! You may be good with a blade, Ser Arya, but you will never vanquish Black Bart!"

"I'll get you, Black Bart! Your days of terror are over!" yelled Arya cheerfully. Audie grinned back at her as he blocked her furious blows; god, she reminded him of home! Like playing Red Ryder with his brother back home...

"Arya!" cried a female voice, scandalized.

"Oh, look, the horse-faced little rat thinks it can fight! And it's the wolves' scrawny little pig, too," sneered Joffrey, and Audie cringed internally at the thought of politely  enduring the Royal Brat's pointless, vicious nastiness towards anyone and anything that he didn't like.  Arya stopped hitting at Audie and turned to glare at the Prince.

"You take that back, Joffrey! Audie's my friend!"

"Your _friend_?" Joffrey laughed nastily. "Consorting with commoners, how disgusting." Sansa laughed hysterically, and then turned to vomit in the grass.

"Lady Sansa!" shouted Audie, rushing forwards. Joffrey, however, raised his sword and pointed it at Audie's chest.

"Back off, Winterfell rat! My Princess will have no common paws touch her!"

Audie Murphy finally lost his much-strained patience with the royal brat, grabbed Joffrey's wrist, and twisted. Joffrey yelped and dropped his sword; Audie followed up with an uppercut to the chin, knocking the royal brat out cold.

"Lady Sansa," Audie repeated, dropping the brat and rushing to Sansa's side. "Come on, I'm picking you up--how much did you have to drink?"

"Hahahahaha..." Sansa slurred. "My Joff, Prinsh Joffrey, haha, he g'fe me three whole wineshkinsh o' shtrongwhine, hahaha..."

"Arya," Audie said, turning just in time to see the smaller girl throw Joffrey's sword into the river and spit on his unconscious form. "Hey! Don't do that, young lady! He may be a brat, but he's still unconscious, and you don't kick a man while he's down!" Arya bowed her head reluctantly. "Run ahead and get your father, tell him what happened, your sister's dangerously drunk and I can't carry her and the prince."

Arya saluted and dashed off at top speed.

"Wh'rz Joffrey?" slurred Sansa. "Wh'rz Lady 'an F'thr?"

"Shhh, it's alright, Lady Sansa, you're just a little drunk. I'll take you back to the camp, everything's fine..."  
***  
"He HIT my SON!" screeched Cersei angrily. "I DEMAND that his hand be taken for this insult!"

"Oh, fuck off, woman," groaned Robert. "The little shit got Ned's daughter so drunk she almost died, insulted Ned's other daughter to her face, and tried to kill her bodyguard, then got taken down by an unarmed commoner; I say the brat deserved the lesson he got."

"You miserable, bloated excuse for a husband! That commoner dog DARED to strike my son! I DEMAND..."

"I SAID FUCK OFF, CERSEI!" roared Robert angrily. "Gods, woman, who in the seven hells is the King here, anyway?"

"Cersei..." said Ser Jaime cautiously, "he has a point, you know..."

"SHUT UP!" screamed Cersei, rounding on her brother in fury. "I can't believe that you of all people would speak against me!"

"Gods, just shut the seven hells up, woman," groaned the King again. "Ned, Ned's guardsman, you can go. You, Hound, you bring the brat to me so I can teach him a lesson in manners befitting a King whenever he wakes up. You, unpronounceable name, with me, I'm going to get fucking drunk."

"Sir," nodded Aarne Juutilainen, saluting and falling in beside the King as he left.  
***  
"So then, we retreat from battle; too many Soviet rats, is impossible to miss, but we are outnumbered about...oh, a hundred, two hundred to one, and they have tanks while we do not. I kill, around a hundred and fifty, two hundred poor starving Soviet rats with my good Suomi gun, but then one of them hits me in the face; anti-tank gun, exploding bullet." The little man gestured to the side of his face. "I wake up, it is a week later, and rat pig Stalin has surrendered. Oh, yes, we lost a few hundred square miles of land, but that is barely enough to bury the Soviet dead!" The little man shook his head and took a swig of ale. "Poor bastards. Sent to die by evil fool rat pig Stalin."

Juutilainen raised his mug of ale in agreement. "Hear, hear! Fucking Soviet rat, I hope he gets what he deserves soon, wherever he is now."

"Hear, hear!" grumbled Robert, tossing another mug down his throat. "HEY! ANOTHER ROUND OVER HERE! So, Audie, right?"

"Yes, sir," replied Audie Murphy, who was going easy on his own booze. "First Lieutenant Audie Murphy, US Army."

"Good man! So, what's your story?"

"Oh, nothing much," shrugged Audie Murphy. "I lied about my age to enlist, didn't get caught so I got deployed to Italy, then France. Caught malaria, that wasn't very fun." Juutilainen shivered and grunted sympathetically. "Then the Krauts made a push while we were in France, my platoon was pinned down. I jumped into a tank--like a big, metal carriage, with guns that shoot fire and explosions, sir--and I held off the Krauts for a little while."

"Just you, in a tank, against infantry? They didn't have antimateriel?" asked Juutilainen.

"Oh, no, sir, the tank was on fire and the Nazis had an entire Panzer division."

Juutilainen dropped his mug with a crash and sprayed mead across the table. "You _what_???"

Audie blushed and shrugged. "It wasn't much, I mean, it was an insane thing to do..."

"And you _won_?"

"Well, we pushed them back when the air support came in, sir," replied Audie Murphy with a shrug. "I had malaria at the time, so it wasn't that uncomfortable in the tank, by comparison."

Robert pulled his head out of his ale and looked at Juutilainen and Häyhä, who were staring open-mouthed at the American. "Am I...missing something here?"

Juutilainen turned to look at him. "King man, this little man, when he was barely more than a boy, fought off the equivalent of one of your gun-less armies by himself. With his only weapon threatening to blow up and destroy him in fire at any moment, and sick with a disease that would kill many men outright."

"That is a real man," concurred the White Death with conviction. Audie Murphy sputtered and tried to protest that it wasn't that much, it was a stupid thing to do, he just owed his country...

"HA!" roared Robert. "It seems we're all real MEN here!" He grabbed Murphy in a one-armed hug and shook him, then lifted him one-armed into the air. "HEY YOU LOT! THIS HERE'S A REAL **MAN** , FULL OF BLOOD AND PISS AND SEMEN, WHO CAN FIGHT AND FUCK LIKE A REAL MAN! HIS DRINKS ARE ON ME TODAY! GIVE HIM A CHEER!" The various patrons and drunks of the tavern raised their mugs and cheered with varied enthusiasm. "A real MAN!" reiterated Robert, setting the soldier down. "If you'd been at the Trident...gods, Rhaegar the Rapist never would've gotten to face my hammer!"

"Oh, this sounds like a good story," said Juutilainen, downing another mead with a grin. "Tell us, eh?"

Robert downed a mead, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and nodded. "Alright. So, I was his age, right?" He jerked a thumb at Audie Murphy, who was recovering from the experience that was Robert Baratheon. "Strong young lad, inherited the Stormlands from my father after he died; shipwreck, terrible way for a man to go. I was betrothed to the lady Lyanna Stark," and here he toasted the sky, "a lovely princess, with the most beautiful grey eyes, I would die to see those eyes again..." Robert squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a couple of tears, then shook himself and continued. "Anyway. The Mad King's son, fucking Rhaegar fucking Targaryen, may he rot in the deepest depths of the Seven Hells, he stole my Lyanna at the tourney at Harrenhall, stole her off to Dorne and raped her." Robert sniffed, openly crying now. "I never saw her again. She died in the fucking Tower of Joy, fucking stupid name, Tower of Grief, more like. Ned said she died in pain, delivering Rhaegar's stillborn bastard." Robert downed another mead. "I killed the whoreson bastard for it. Hammered in his chest at the Ruby Ford."

"Oh, yeah?" asked the Terror of Morocco. "That must've been some fight."

"Hells yeah!" snarled Robert. "I was a real man back then. That bastard came at me on horseback. I remember it like it was yesterday...he was wearing that dragon helm and the fancy armor with the rubies, and I was in my stag helm, neat pair of antlers it had. He tried for me with his sword, but I blocked it with my shield, and swung my hammer," and here he demonstrated with his mug, spilling ale everywhere, "and caved in his fucking chest." The King poured the remains of his ale down his throat and grabbed another. "It didn't do any good. I killed that fucking dragonspawn, but I didn't get Lyanna back, I got stuck with that fucking iron seat and that bitch Cersei, and now my son's a fucking spoiled brat who can't take a punch and threatens people for trying to help Ned's daughter." He drained his drink again, and belched. "Damn it all. I'm a fucking mess, man."

Juutilainen shrugged. "That's a fair judgement."

"Useless, fat mass," grumbled Robert, draining another mug. "Godsdamned worthless mess."

"What would this Lyanna think, if she could see you now?" asked Juutilainen, taking a drink from his own mead.

Robert Baratheon looked down at his massive girth, beer staining his doublet, and sighed. "She'd call me a fat stupid slob, that's what. That's what I am. I'm not the Demon of the Trident, not anymore. I'm a fat worthless mess, there's no gods-damned point anymore..."

"Don't think like that," snapped Juutilainen. "Those are the words of the Soviet rats we killed at the Kollaa! Here, come!" He stood up and pushed his chair back in one fluid motion. "Come! We will make you a man again! We will make you a man with good Finnish training and the good Kollaa spirit, that let a hundred men hold against ten thousand!"

Robert looked at his mead, and at his gut. The Finn moved around the table to him. "They asked me, ' _Kestääkö Kollaa_ '--"Will the Kollaa hold?" I said, "the Kollaa will hold until we are given orders to run". And you know what? We fucking held the Kollaa! There is _nothing_  that cannot be done by Finnish men and Finnish spirit! You think you're a lost cause? Give me two months and I will make you a man of destiny!"

"Yes," whispered Robert, staring at the mead.

"What was that? I didn't hear you, soldier!"

"YES!" roared King Robert Baratheon, First of his name, as he slammed the mead down and thrust himself to his feet. "I'M THE GODSDAMNED DEMON STAG! To the seven hells with this shit, I'm getting back into shape if it godsdamn kills me!"

"THAT'S the fucking Kollaa spirit I want to see!" yelled the Terror of Morocco. "Come on! Are you a man or a mouse?"

"I'M ROBERT FUCKING BARATHEON!"

Audie Murphy looked over at the White Death as the other two men yelled their way out of the tavern. "So...is he still paying for my drinks?"

Simo Häyhä shrugged. "I don't know. I have money saved, I will pay if he does not."  
***  
_The Riverlands, several months later._

Lord Beric Dondarrion fell backwards beneath the Mountain's assault, swept off of his feet by one blow of the brute's massive sword. Gregor Clegane bellowed with victorious fury, kicking the splintered remains of the Lightning Lord's shield from his grasp, and raised his sword for the finishing blow...

Then his head exploded, a spurt of blood propelling itself from the front of his helm, and Ser Gregor Clegane fell backwards in a clash of metal.

Almost a mile away, Simo Häyhä sang quietly to himself. Normally he was absolutely silent while shooting, but he felt that the situation demanded it.

" _Oi maamme, Suomi, synnyinmaa_ ," and another Mountain's Man fell, " _soi, sana kultainen_!" Fire. Lever. " _Ei laaksoa, ei kukkulaa_ ," Fire. Lever. " _ei vettä, rantaa rakkaampaa_ ," Fire. Lever. " _kuin kotimaa tää pohjoinen_ ," Fire. Lever. " _maa kallis i-si-en_!" Fire. Lever. " _Ei laaksoa, ei kukkulaa_ ," Fire. Lever. " _ei vettä, rantaa rakkaampaa_ ," Fire. Lever. " _kuin kotimaa tää pohjoinen_ ," Fire. Lever. " _maa kallis i-si-en_!" Fire. Lever. And...

The Mountain's Men were in full retreat, many screaming in panic. Simo chuckled quietly to himself, and began to pick up his field kit.

Poor dumb bastards. Probably never even heard of a rifle before, much less a good Finnish rifle.


End file.
